Watchin' Your Back, Man
by Plunderer01
Summary: Because hey, villains have lives too, ya know.  Mainly Plunder/Blight, but don't worry, you'll get to see the others too. Promise.
1. Let's All Ride the Crazy Train

**A/N: Hey, I threatened to do it and I am! Enjoy! :)  
**

* * *

Dr. Barbara Blight had never been a particularly social person, even during the best of times. However, she understood the importance of social interaction in human beings, which was one reason she created MAL; she didn't want to completely lose her mind because of the lack of a little conversation.

She considered the association with her current 'colleagues' (if she could even _call_ them that) to possess a curiously dichotomic nature; although they worked well together, the goal of the initial alliance rarely manifested itself. Arguably the downfall of their plans were those aggravating Planeteers, but Blight knew that the real reason – their lack of solidarity – got them every single rotten time. None of the Eco-villains were willing or capable of that level of teamwork, and besides her, she suspected that only Plunder had the psychological capacity to develop an actual friendship. (Not that he did _that_ very much, as he had his own reasons for not trusting people.)

With the sole exception of Looten, and to a smaller extent Greedly, she found it almost impossible to develop a rapport with any of them. Even _if_ she managed to overcome the differences that would have isolated her normally, maintaining it wouldn't be worth it in the long run. They all carried emotional baggage, some more severely than others, but all of them found their interpersonal skills severely affected by it. Their problems ranged from Skumm's near sociopathic lack of empathy to Plunder's obsessive and extremely competitive personality, to her own mood instabilities. Although she never actually asked him, she had a strong suspicion that Greedly was chronically depressed.

Duke Nukem she would have considered a friend, as their paths had crossed more than once in scientific circles before their respective accidents. But over the years Blight couldn't help but notice the slow deterioration of his mental faculties and his frequent, sometimes violently changing fixations. Right after his accident, Nukem had worked day and night to find a cure, but for reasons unknown he had gradually abandoned his research and embraced his condition. Ironically, despite the many things they had once shared in common, she now found it difficult to talk to him about anything, let alone science. She could personally appreciate the motivation and energy that a bit of psychosis could give, but the man's actions bordered on incoherent. Occasionally, she would see a spark of the old Dr. Nukem, the world-renowned physics professor, in his neon green eyes. It was often a desperate look, the look of a man trying to escape from a personal, psychological, and physical hell. But as quickly as it surfaced, the crazed expression of the new Duke would dominate yet again. Dr. Blight was not a very empathetic individual, but sometimes thinking about the implications made her blood run cold. But that look didn't surface much nowadays, which somehow disturbed her even more.

She had worked with Hoggish Greedly a few times; however she rarely accompanied him on actual exploits, generally working through contractual obligations. Designing and constructing the various pieces of pig-themed equipment he wanted was something she rather enjoyed, although working directly _with_ him wasn't always enjoyable as she found many of his mannerisms annoying. But at least his equipment orders were a challenge mechanically and visually, and he had never tried to cheat her out of a balance due. Also, he never attempted to hit on her, something she very much appreciated. Nevertheless, she preferred to keep their contacts purely professional, despite being reasonably close friends with his wife.

Sly Sludge barely registered on her radar anymore, as the last time she worked directly with him was a few years ago. In the past she tended to sell him her more experimental machines, or devices that had not been tested at all. She disliked him immensely; his abrasive and incredibly unpolished personality allowed for little polite or cultured conversation. His tendency to blurt out whatever he was thinking really aggravated her _and_ Looten, who had the misfortune of once losing out on a small fortune because of that habit. Sludge still technically owed her a million dollars, but she knew she'd never collect – which was fine with her – as she could use it as an excuse to keep her interactions with him to a minimum. Plunder had jokingly offered to have Sludge's knees broken for lack of payment, which she had declined. Later on she wondered how serious he had actually _been_ as Bleak looked genuinely disappointed at her response. In hindsight, she wished she had agreed, as Sludge's big mouth almost cost Looten more than just money on one particular occasion.

Verminous Skumm was one Eco-villain she would be happy to avoid for the rest of her life. She had only collaborated with him in a group setting, and from what Greedly had told her, that was the best way to work with him. She distrusted anyone with an agenda – and although they _all_ had that to varying degrees, Blight found Skumm's to be the most ambitious and diabolic. During that fiasco with Plunder's water syndicate a few years back she had an unpleasant confrontation with Skumm that might have resulted in her mutating into one of his followers. She had been working late in the building's lab when Skumm had crept into the room, on the pretense of needing chemicals for contaminating some lakes. He had somehow cornered her and, while speaking about his plans for humanity, started to come uncomfortably close. It had appeared to her that he was about to reach for something hidden in his coat when Plunder had suddenly entered, loudly exclaiming annoyance over a misplaced briefcase. Skumm had hissed to himself and glared at Plunder for several seconds, but reluctantly exited the laboratory. The relief on her face must have showed because he cast her a concerned look, but she had shaken her head, not wanting to discuss it.. It hadn't occurred to her until much later that Plunder had never been in the lab prior to the incident, and could not have misplaced anything there. She suspected his sudden entrance had more to do with the surveillance cameras installed in key locations within the building than with chance. She made sure after that to never be alone (or unarmed) around Verminous Skumm or any of his subordinates.

And of course, there was Looten Plunder.


	2. Some Of The Best Things In Life Are Free

Dr. Blight could count on one hand how many friends she had, and he was one of the few _real _ones, not just amongst the Eco-villains but in general. MAL didn't count as she couldn't honestly consider something deliberately programmed to like her a _friend_, despite his impressive AI capabilities. Looten had his flaws – quite a few of them actually. He was by nature an extremely competitive and aggressive individual, a textbook case Type A personality. With Plunder the boundaries of business and his personal life occasionally blurred, which irritated her immensely and often instigated the few real fights they had. She wasn't so proud as to _completely_ deny her own contributions to any tension between them, as she knew her severe mood swings oftentimes confused him, and Looten wasn't exactly the patient type. He was heartless and occasionally cruel in his business dealings, and when he got angry, he could act in the same manner to her, although to his credit he was usually remorseful and apologetic afterward. And getting a sincere apology from Looten Plunder was something of a rare commodity, one of which only she was privy to.

Even still, they were really quite close. Blight knew she loved him, but in a way that was hard to describe or even formulate as a definitive concept in her mind. It wasn't romantic love, exactly, but like a fundamental force that drew and held them together; they both knew that in the long run, they would never really leave each other. Neither one of them understood it, and after awhile, they both gave up on trying to define it.

On the surface, they didn't have a lot in common; Blight was a scientific genius in several fields and conducted experiments for the sake of science or her own curiosity, not generally being interested in profit. Plunder was an aggressive and cutthroat businessman, his bottom line the first thing considered and profit his main goal. He wasn't a genius or particularly scientific, but he was far from stupid; he knew things about psychology, economics, politics, and law that she found difficult to comprehend, let alone expertly manipulate. But somehow they connected on a deeper level, which only grew stronger the longer they knew each other.

It _did_ help that they had a common enemy of sorts, but they hardly spent their free time discussing the _Planeteers_, of all things. Plunder hated the Planeteers, and his anger almost always flared into an apoplectic rage in his encounters with them; but even he found it difficult to justify the outright assassination of a group of teenagers, something he was most certainly capable of orchestrating. Besides, he had recently started setting up dummy operations for them to target, and he found it quite successful.

She knew that he loved her too, in a similar fashion, although they were both unlikely to ever say such words. That disappointed her to a small degree, but she knew that their relationship wasn't a normal one. _They_ weren't normal. Paradoxically, it was also a source of pride that they didn't need to say anything to each other; the thought was always there, unnecessary to utter aloud. Even still, he showed it in many subtle and not so subtle ways. Blight had accompanied him to meetings in the past, where she would witness him smoothly and confidently lie to a number of powerful and intelligent CEOs, scientists, and public officials – but he would stumble over his words when trying to lie to her about where he went for lunch. It was simply impossible for him to lie to her, which she found both ironic and a little adorable.

On special occasions such as her birthday, he typically showed his affection in a more grandiose manner. Many times this involved flying in his private jet to her choice of any city (or multiple ones if she felt so inclined) for shopping, dinner, or whatever else she wanted to do. She remembered with fondness last year in Milan when he had dropped a grand on a pair of shoes without batting an eye, and three times as much on a formal evening gown. He had purchased an expensive black tie ensemble for himself before they headed to Paris for dinner. They spent the entire week in Europe, crisscrossing the continent to wherever she wanted to go. Since neither of them had bothered to pack, he simply kept purchasing things as the need arose. The whole trip was unusually spontaneous of him.

Especially when he bought a light pink Carrera GT, which they used to speed down the Autobahn with the top down. Blight couldn't help but laugh in exhilaration as he kept shifting the transmission up, the vehicle accelerating at an insane speed. Her hair looked horrible after the ride but so did his; the band that held his ponytail in place had flown off, probably when he was testing to see if the car really _could_ go from zero to sixty in three point five seconds. The stunned look on his face when he finally saw himself in the rear-view mirror was priceless.

She was pleased, although not particularly surprised, when he gave her the car.

But even _that_ paled in comparison to what Looten presented to her when they returned to the United States a few days later.

As they had many times before, they shared a few drinks near the roof-top pool of one of his downtown luxury properties. Looten had excused himself momentarily, claiming he needed to organize a bit of paperwork before flying out to one of his overseas operations in the morning. Blight had shrugged and relaxed a little in her chair. A few minutes later, Plunder returned, with a small folder in his hands. He sat down next to her, looking a little nervous.

"What's wrong?" she asked, sitting up.

He paused, appearing to be collecting himself. "I have one more present – if you want to call it that – for you."

She furrowed her brow. _What-_

"Alright." she said a little hesitantly. Blight couldn't help but notice his hands were shaking a little.

He handed it to her. It was an innocuous sort of thing, looking kind of like one of his company's quarterly reports. She opened it. The little black folder contained about a dozen neatly bound pages of newspaper clippings. Blight looked over at Looten, who blankly stared back. Despite the suspiciously neutral look on his face, she saw that he gripped the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. Not a good sign.

She read the first clipping. She paled.

_Oh my God._

She swiftly turned the page. And the next one. She ended up flipping through the entire folder so rapidly that she accidentally tore a few of them.

"Looten." She said his name quietly.

He kept that neutral expression of his.

"Looten, what did you do?"

"I helped the Feds, for once." He said in a bitter voice.

Feeling her throat close, she could barely choke out her next sentence. "How much did this cost?"

"That's not important."

"How much did this _cost_, Looten?" Blight said a little more forcefully.

"A lot of money. And a lot of owed favors."

She was silent.

"Are you angry?"

She shook her head dumbly. He looked relieved.

"I...I can't believe this. You know, they never _could_ prosecute them. Some crap about not enough evidence. As if my face wasn't enough fucking evidence."

Plunder scoffed. "Well, they were lying to you. Shockingly."

She looked at him.. "How? How could they just let them _go_? Especially that _bastard_?"

His face hardened. "While it was technically true that they didn't have enough evidence to prosecute Fuller, the rest of them were a different story. The Feds could have used their testimony against him but they didn't."

Blight shook her head, still in shock.

"Why?"

"Because, as par for the course, the government wanted informants more than they wanted justice. The FBI made a deal with the arrested FOA members- infiltrate the organization, and come back with evidence that would bring down the higher-ups. They'd make it look like they were released due to lack of evidence, so FOA leadership wouldn't be suspicious."

"Looten, that was almost ten years ago! Last time I checked – and believe me I have – they were still in operation."

"Yes, yes they are. Their plan isn't working, for whatever reason."

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"How do you know all this?"

"Not to sound _too_ cliché, I have friends in both very high and very low places. All of which owe me something."

"How long did this take?"

Plunder was silent for a few seconds.

"Almost nine years." He said quietly.

She stared at him.

"Looten. We've known each other for only a little over nine years. I didn't tell you what happened until two years after we met. Who told you?"

He looked uncomfortable. "Nobody."

"What?"

"I did this on my own, Babs."

"Why? You barely knew me then."

"Do I have to answer that? You know why."

Blight nodded, suddenly feeling very tired.

"But what about Fuller? I don't see him in these articles."

"In his case, the law couldn't touch him."

* * *

He had offered to take her home, but she declined, stating that she might as well use the new car he had given her. But in reality, she wanted to be alone to think. There was a turmoil in her mind that she needed to sort out; a lot of painful memories that had been refreshed in only a span of a few minutes. Parking her car, Blight sighed as she opened the front door and trudged through her living room.

She stopped a moment to take a extra long look at MAL's darkened console before heading to bed.

Right before she turned out the light, she decided to flip through the folder again. Spending a few minutes mulling over the articles detailing the arrest and conviction of the twelve FOA members, she felt something tucked into the back pocket of the folder. Curious, she pulled it out.

It was a greeting card envelope. On one side, in Plunder's scratchy handwriting, was _Babs_.

She opened it but a small piece of paper fluttered out. Before she got out of bed to pick it up, she glanced at the card. It was rather plain and generic as birthday cards went and the inside was blank except for two small lines.

_The law couldn't touch him._

_Happy Birthday._

She picked up the small piece of paper. It was an article about a horrific car accident that had resulted in the lone victim being burned beyond recognition, but DNA analysis of the remains were pending. Blight was a little confused. Why would Looten put something like this in a birthday card?

There was a message scrawled in the margins of the clipping.

_But I could._

Dr. Blight turned off the light and cried for the second time in her adult life.


	3. Killing In The Name Of

Looten Plunder was a very careful man.

In the past, he found such a quality paid off most handsomely; many potentially disastrous scandals (and jail time) had been deftly avoided because of his remarkably thorough attention to detail. Additionally, Plunder had a hard and fast rule that he never broke, a rule that had kept him secure from the authorities.

He never got personally involved in dirty work.

Oh sure, Argos Bleak was legally employed by Plunder, and therefore a link could be made to any unpleasant turn of events. But in reality, Bleak's official position was one of a bodyguard, and anything he did beyond that was outside of Plunder's control, so he claimed. Even then, Bleak himself was often protected by a lack of physical evidence, incomplete links, alibis, and most importantly, a team of some of the best lawyers of whatever country he might be tried in. And if_ that _didn't work, bribery was usually the ultimate solution. Plunder himself preferred to avoid violence as a solution as much as possible, as murders, no matter how expertly carried out, were a nasty thing to disassociate oneself from.

All these layers of defense worked flawlessly. He never deviated away from them, no matter how tempting it was to do so; it was actually one of the many reasons why the Planeteers were still alive.

But every rule has an exception, and he found his one exception through a man named Quentin Fuller.

Plunder strode rather lackadaisically down the long, white, empty corridor, the sound of his footsteps unnaturally loud. He thought, with some amusement, that he must seem to be a stark contrast to his surroundings to any bystander. He was purposely dressed in black. His suit, his shirt, his tie, the gloves in his pocket, and his shoes, everything was all black. To anyone else, he looked like he was going to a funeral.

_In a sense of the word..._

He stopped at the end of the hall, standing in front of the lone door. He placed his palm on the small plate next to the handle. It made an electronic beep, blinked green, and with a hiss, the hydraulic lock unlatched and the door opened. Plunder descended the flight of stairs that lead down into the lowest level of the research and development wing, this particular area long since abandoned by his employees. Only he, Bleak, and theoretically Blight has access to this area, and the only room actively used was soundproof.

He opened the door. It was dark inside, with the exception of one fluorescent overhead light. Sitting right under the light, blindfolded and bound to a chair, was his exception. Bleak stood, leaning against the wall, arms casually crossed. Plunder looked over at him.

"Did you do the final check?"

"That I did, boss. This is him without a doubt."

"Good." Revenge minded as he was, he didn't want to kill the wrong man.

Plunder slid a chair in front of his captive and sat down across from him, crossing his legs in a casual manner. He tapped his chin with his index finger, seemingly contemplating his next move. The man, despite his blindfold, had an incredibly nervous look on his face. Sweat dripped from his chin, and he shuffled uncomfortably in his seat.

Plunder sat in silence for a few more seconds, waiting.

The man couldn't take it anymore. "What do you want from me?" he screeched in a voice shrill with fear.

Plunder stood up and backhanded him hard across the face. The man spat out a tooth. "I don't want anything from you, you filthy hippie. Except one thing."

"God, who..."

Plunder ripped off the man's blindfold. Fuller squinted in the light. His eyes widened.

"You? What the hell, man! What is this, some corporate conspiracy?"

Looten had a furious look on his face. "You wish."

Fuller snarled back. "You corporate assholes are all the same! Destroying the environment and murdering helpless animals not enough for you? You gotta intimidate us too, huh?"

"This isn't about your idiotic movement, Fuller."

"What else could this be about, Plunder?"

Plunder sneered. "I take it your little terrorist group has been monitoring me."

"We're not terrorists man! _You're _the one that's the fear-mongering terrorist, profiting off of pain and suffering!"

"Pain and suffering? You cannot be serious." Plunder's flat voice concealed the fact he was close to losing his composure.

"We are trying to stop the pain. We are trying to stop the suffering! People like you just don't care about that shit. You only care about your bottom line, and nothing else."

Carefully tugging on his gloves, Plunder selected a crowbar from a nearby table.

"You son of a bitch. You have no idea what I value," he said in a dark voice, gently tapping his upturned palm with the end.

Fuller paled.

"But you're going to find out."

Looten brought the crowbar down hard on the captive man's kneecap. He howled in pain.

"And I want you to think."

He brought it down on the other knee.

"I want you to think hard. I want you to think about something you did eight and a half years ago."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about!" he exclaimed, after a few minutes of whimpering.

"I told you to _think_."

Looten grabbed Fuller's hair, forcing his head back. "Pain and suffering?" he hissed. "You want to _stop_ pain and suffering? You and your filthy group caused it the night you raided those labs in Chicago!"

Fuller spat in his face. "They deserved it! All of them! Do you even _know_ what they were doing to those animals?"

Plunder wiped his cheek with the back of his hand.

"Yes, I do. She told me, after all."

"She told..." he trailed off, confused.

Plunder stood up straight and gripping the crowbar like a baseball bat, he smashed it into Fuller's left arm. He was rewarded with a sickening crack. Fuller screamed.

"You want to know what I value?"

Plunder reached into his jacket and pulled out a photo of Blight and another scientist together, both smiling. Fuller's eyes grew wide in recognition.

"This woman."

Then Looten hit him in the face. Blood splattered onto his suit and the picture.

"And _her_ pain and suffering."

* * *

Plunder sat in an armchair next to the roaring fire, somewhat mesmerized by the flames. He had changed back into his usual green suit, a necessity considering the black one he wore earlier was burning away into nothing in front of him. Everything material related to the abduction and disappearance of Quentin Fuller had been destroyed, including the crowbar.

Even the car they had used to transport him in was the vehicle burning away in an isolated gully, the prominent player in a staged car accident. All the paperwork showed the car registered and purchased by the late animal rights advocate. All the road conditions were considered ahead of time to fake a believable accident. Of course, the injuries may not be consistent with a wreck like that, but the public nowadays rarely sympathized with terrorists, no matter how minor.

He even burned the picture.

After all, Looten Plunder was a very, very careful man.

* * *

**A/N: I forgot to thank Lisa, JoeMerl, and FrankieAlton for their encouragement and stuff! Thanks guys! (Insert hearts here)**


	4. It's Always Doomsday For Somebody

"And then...and then...," Dr. Levine gasped, "and _then_ he said to the undergrad, 'That's not quantum entanglement, that's my wife!'" He threw back his head and howled with laughter, his glasses falling somewhat askew on his face.

Dr. Blight groaned and shook her head, although she couldn't suppress a chuckle. "I think that was the nerdiest joke I've ever heard, and the sad part is that I actually _got_ it."

"Then you're a nerd. Nerd."

"Says the biophysicist."

He wagged a finger at her in a mock-scolding manner. "Bio_engineer_, thank you very much. You know, the actually _sexy_ kind of engineer."

Blight grinned wryly and deliberately posed in a provocative fashion, leaning slightly against the workstation. She delicately rested her chin on the back of her hand, and cast him a seductive look.

"Oh really?" she breathed. Levine gave her a stunned look, which quickly changed into one of annoyance.

He threw up his hands. "Fine! Sheesh! You win _this_ time!"

She laughed, brushed back the hair that had fallen in her face, and promptly resumed her previous stance.

"Yeah, I thought so," she smirked.

He returned the expression. "Only you can pull off sexy in a baggy, very _un_sexy clean room coverall. That also happens to be a neon-orange."

Babs blinked. "Wait, is that a compliment or what?"

"Hey, you're the genius! _You_ figure it out."

She glared at him.

Levine gave her a toothy grin. She rolled her eyes. "You're nuts," she finally said, peering into a microscope, carefully jotting down notes.

"Wow! Coming from you...that's...that's..._something_..."

He barely dodged the clipboard she hurled at his head.

"My dear, you _certainly_ enjoy throwing things at me! I should be disturbed, yet I am not. So I can only reasonably conclude that your previous statement is true."

She scoffed. "Well, you're not as crazy as those idiots protesting outside."

He shrugged a little. "They can protest all they want. As long as the stay behind those fences, I really don't care."

"Well, I _still_ think they're idiots. Bunch of hippies need to get a damn life."

"Indeed." Levine then frowned. "Although I _do_ wish they would move us to an undisclosed location. I still don't understand how our research was leaked to the public. Talk about a PR disaster."

He bent down to pick up the clipboard and handed it back to her. She took it, having the decency to look a little sheepish.

"And speaking of disasters, did you hear about Dr. Nukem?"

_That_ got her attention. "You know him?" she asked, a little surprised.

"Only professionally. We corresponded on some joint research back when I was still in academia. Well, back when I was still purely into physics, anyway. Brilliant man. Such a shame, really..."

She turned around to face him, microscope forgotten. "What _happened_?"

He gave her a curious look. She sighed. "I had him as a professor for a few courses. But it was a long time ago."

"Ah." he nodded. "Well, anyway, he was developing some sort of nuclear fuel recycling process. I _did_ contribute a little, mainly by giving him my opinions on some specific reactor specs. I personally thought the void coefficients were a little on the high side, but nothing a little minor tweaking couldn't fix. It seemed quite sound to me, overall, and I was honestly shocked when I heard the news."

"Well what _is_ it?" she asked in an exasperated tone.

"It blew up in his face. "

"What?"

"Yup."

"Geez." She shook her head slowly. "I suppose he's dead then."

"Nope."

Blight was stunned. "What." she said flatly.

"You heard me."

"That's impossible. You do _not_ have a supercritical reaction blow up in your face and simply walk away from it."

"I concur. But he's alive. If you want to _call_ it that," he said.

"Well, if he's still alive, then exposure to all that radiation will kill him in a few days," she sighed.

"It happened a little over a month ago."

"Good God. How...?"

"I have no idea. They say he's physically changed. It's pretty horrible, according to what I've heard." Levine stared off into the distance for a moment, his gaze a little unfocused. He felt more than a little disturbed.

"Well, what do his doctors say?" she prodded.

"Nothing. He hasn't seen anybody. Duke disappeared only a week after the initial accident. If I had to guess, I'd say he's probably holed up in his personal lab. He bought some land a few years ago and got some funding to build it, although they wouldn't let him build a reactor there."

"So he blew the university's reactor?"

He nodded. "The whole place is going through decontamination. Good thing it's located in a relatively isolated area. I remember spending a lot of time there."

"Why haven't I heard about this? This is a pretty big deal."

Levine rolled his eyes. "It was being funded on the state level. They didn't want to look bad, you know. Fortunately, he was the only one there at the time. If a student were involved even _they_ wouldn't be able to cover it up."

* * *

It was hard, being like this.

The whispering, the askance glances, and sometimes the outright revulsion demonstrated by his colleagues hurt more than he cared to admit; only a mere month ago his presence would have been warmly welcomed, embraced even.

He had been on the verge of a momentous breakthrough in reactor engineering, even going as far as to start to write up the paper for publication. Undoubtedly his development of streamlined, efficient, and most importantly, _cheap_ nuclear fuel recycling process would have only added more prestige to the university's already impressive reputation, and the grant money would have flowed like the proverbial milk and honey.

Hell, they would have been _begging_ to fund his research, especially the nuclear power industry.

_Especially_ the federal government.

But of course, just like every other time he been close to achieving something big, it had to blow up in his face. Except that this time, it did so quite literally.

Professor Nukem knew that realistically speaking, it was _far_ too early to speculate on the final outcome of the disaster.

But his gut told him that he wouldn't be bouncing back from this one.

He was hideous-looking, to say the least. Well he was _now_, anyway; initially there was not much of a physical change in his appearance, just a strange, soft, yellow glow on his skin that never seemed to dissipate, despite his repeated and frantic scrubbing. The radioactive material had not simply contaminated his skin, it had _embedded_ itself deeply. And even though it should have been completely impossible-

_It is, it IS! It's NOT possible...it can't..._

-the cobalt, or at least some of it, had buried itself even deeper into him, into his cells, into his DNA. It wasn't simply damaging his genetic code, like high-energy radiation normally would do to an organism. It was becoming a _part_ of his genetic code.

It was literally starting to replicate itself, like any other living system. But instead of using lipids or proteins for cell structure, from what he could tell, it was using Plutonium-239, Uranium-235, and...something else. It was getting harder and harder to focus lately, and while nuclear physics was his specialty, he had little knowledge of how they impacted biochemical pathways and structure. It was outside his field, outside his ability to grasp within the dwindling window of time he suspected he had left. He _did _know enough, however, to understand that what was happening to him was biologically impossible.

Duke _also_ knew that the slides of his blood he made for observation under the electron microscope were not up to standard; he never had been adept at preparing biological specimens. The work was shoddy and he wasn't entirely sure what he was looking at anyway.

But he was growing tired, and increasingly desperate.

His skin had finally hardened into what could only be described as yellow scales, or plates. They felt almost like rough terracotta to the touch, assuming that his sense of touch was even accurate anymore. The plates were heavy, and movement was difficult, although in the past few days they didn't feel quite so severe as an obstruction.

His face...he didn't even want to _look_ at his face, the nauseating color of his eyes, hair, and skin juxtaposed obscenely together like some hideous caricature of his former self.

Duke snarled and brought his fist down on the beaker in frustration, smashing it, drops of his own violet-colored blood splattering on his lab coat. He couldn't do this alone. He needed help, but none of his colleagues at the university would even get physically close to him anymore, let alone _help_ him. He sat down on a nearby workbench and shut his eyes momentarily.

If they wouldn't, than who _would_? Clearly, he needed to search outside of his usual – no, make that _former_ – circle of peers.

Nukem sighed. The list was growing shorter, and each time he thought he had it, the consideration would be eliminated for whatever reason. In almost no time, he had run down the list of scientists he knew personally and distantly.

Then he had a new idea.

_What about...former grad students?_

Duke furrowed his brow, concentrating as hard as he could. He had, of course, advised many graduate students in the past, but they were obviously not schooled enough in the field he needed help with _now_.

_Who do I know from Biochem? Professor...Clark? Yes. One of his Masters students..._

He shook his head. He remembered her, being rather pleased at her enthusiasm for nuclear physics despite her then-current program of study. She had insisted on taking his upper-division courses, and he had marveled at her rather brilliant paper on the effects of beta decay on RNA transcription.

She would be perfect, but he didn't know what became of her after she left; he couldn't even remember her name, let _alone_ if she went on to do doctoral work.

And even if he _did_ manage to track her down, he doubted that she would help him.

But Professor Nukem was going to try.


	5. The Shunned

**Many hearts to OzQueene for her encouragement! **

**Also, a big thank you to JoeMerl for his help!**

**

* * *

**

Dr. Levine might have held a Ph.D from a top-rated school, but initially Dr. Blight didn't care much for his attitude. He was rather arrogant and ambitious, and while she couldn't truly fault him for that, they weren't exactly the qualities she desired in a fellow lead scientist. However, their work in biochemical weaponry was a source of much controversy, so she supposed any scientist willing to take the risk of being defamed by the larger academic community was worth the extra effort of getting to know, despite her substantial handicap in socialization.

Not that he was a bad looking man, either; Dr. Levine could be considered a fairly handsome even with the glasses he constantly had to adjust to the bridge of his nose. He was tall, at a little over six feet with shortly cropped brown hair. He _could_ be quite charming at times despite his arrogance, although she wouldn't allow herself to fall for it. But as time passed, she began to realize what she had brushed off as arrogance was just confidence, something she _could_ appreciate.

They _did_ become friends, albeit somewhat slowly. She'd never been very good at casual social interaction; picking up on nuances in comments and jokes was something that eluded her, as she tended to take such things at either face value or just not recognizing them at all. Blight had always been a serious person, a serious student, and a serious scientist. She felt that the more mundane aspects of life were not worthy of her time – there was so much to be done, and very little time, in her opinion, to do it.

It was, in a way, refreshing that he recognized that tendency in her; she knew that deep down she needed more than just professional relationships in her life, and a genuine friend made her feel more...well-rounded. It was a new, strange sensation, and one that she enjoyed for the first time.

And she recognized certain tendencies in him too. Levine, to those who knew him well enough, wore his emotions on his sleeve; his confidence in his scientific abilities were such that any (unlikely) unwelcome comment would be quickly smoothed over with his superior intellect, and most importantly, his results. His gregarious personality allowed him to get away with things that would get others, including herself, in a lot of trouble with their superiors. Levine was a master of smooth-talking his way out of uncomfortable situations, a tactic that he often employed on her behalf.

_Considering that I need it pretty frequently._

She was opinionated, brash and matter-of-fact; she had, more than once, backed herself into a verbal corner with management, and he had to come to her rescue.

"_Barbara, it's not about winning the argument. It's about getting results, and telling them _without_ pissing them off."_

"_But they ask the most _idiotic_ questions!"_

"_You don't have to tell _me_ that. But even more importantly, you don't need to tell _them_ that. Being a genius alone will get you only so far."_

Through him, she learned quite a few things about reading others, and anticipating their actions. And that included her only close friend, Dr. Levine himself. So when she saw his anxious face after a long holiday weekend, she immediately knew something serious was up.

She had arrived early that morning to finish up some paperwork, her office door kept wide open as usual; in the past she had become so absorbed in her work that she couldn't hear any knocking from Levine or any of the lab techs. So, when he finally arrived, she had looked up in time to see that worried look plastered on his face.

He unlocked his office, which was right across from hers, and hung up his coat and hat. He didn't greet her at all, which was unusual.

Babs saw that his hands shook slightly as he opened his locker and reached for his lab coat. She frowned.

"Malcolm, are you alright?"

He glanced up at her, as if noticing her for the first time. "Good morning Barbara! Yes, I'm fine, why do you ask?" he said in a cheerful voice, although to Blight it wasn't very convincing.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm just a bit...tired, that's all."

She tilted her head to the side. "Busy weekend?" she inquired.

"Something like that." Walking over to her, he tugged on the lab coat.

"Oh. Well, anyway, here are the results for control group D." She handed him a folder. He flipped it open and quickly scanned it.

"Wait, Group D are the rabbits, right?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. I'll have to double-check some of those environmental variables of the experimental group. The values see a little off."

"Oh?" she said in a surprised tone. "I'm pretty sure I did that already."

He waved a dismissive hand. "I doubt it was anything _you_ did. One of the techs probably made an error. No big deal."

"Yeah, it could have been that new lab tech, what was his name?" Babs asked.

"Quentin, I think."

"He's been making a lot of mistakes like this. Maybe you should talk to him."

Levine sighed. "That I will."

"Thanks."

* * *

Babs yawned and stretched lazily, leaning back on the couch. It had been a long day.

Several experiments had to be scrapped because of contamination and poorly recorded or missing values. The whole situation had been strange, considering that the majority of her lab technicians were quite competent. And even more odd, something neither she nor Levine could figure out, was the disappearance of a number of lab rats. That wouldn't have been so disturbing if they had been the breeder rats, but it was the control animals that had gone missing. She supposed she _should_ count her lucky stars that none of the rats in the _experimental _groups that had gone missing, as that could have caused a potential epidemic in the surrounding human population.

Still, her pleas to her superiors for increased containment measures within the facility had so far been ignored, although they _did_ step up security around the exterior of the building itself. The protesters had not increased in number, but several new threats to the personal safety of the lab personnel had motivated the change.

_At least those idiots got something right. _

She shut her eyes, close to drifting off, when she heard her doorbell ring several times in a row. Startled, Babs got up and walked slowly over to the door. She knew better than to rush over, as she heard of other scientists having a Molotov cocktail blow up in their face by opening the door in a predicable amount of time. She cautiously looked through the peephole. There was nobody there.

She slowly opened the blinds of the narrow windows situated on both sides of the door. It was dark, but enough light filtered out of the window to reveal a small envelope on her welcome mat, but nothing else. Babs turned out the light, and walked over to a nearby closet. She quickly pulled on a pair of elbow-length rubber gloves. Selecting a small respirator, she placed it over her face.

Dr. Blight wasn't about to take any chances.

She slowly opened the door, quickly yet gingerly snatched the envelope, and after examining it for a moment, she carefully opened it. Taking care to note any strange powders or dusts, she unfolded the paper inside.

_Barbara-_

_I need your help. Meet me behind the lab tomorrow night after hours. I'll explain then._

It wasn't signed. It didn't look like Levine's handwriting, or anyone else she knew for that matter. She mentally shrugged, placed the letter in a plastic baggy and put it on the top shelf of the closet.

_Easier to decontaminate a closet than an entire house. _

She went upstairs.

Somewhere on the bottom shelf, her Geiger counter ticked softly.


	6. A Mind Is A Terrible Thing To Waste

The day had been a rather surreal one.

Levine looked even more pale and nervous than the day before, making her wonder if he had contracted something. Her inquires were met with either a dismissive wave of his hand or feigned ignorance. Babs knew that he was lying, which bothered her somewhat; Levine had never been dishonest with her before, and she often wondered if he even _could _be.

Of course, he had been asking _her_ the same questions throughout the course of the day, and naturally she had lied. Blight had mulled over the significance of the note almost all night, and during work that next day. She still had no idea who sent it, although the casual usage of her first name seemed to indicate that she _did_ know the sender.

Regardless, Babs wasn't sure if she should show up or not. It was unlikely any activist organizations had her personal address, or could link her to weapons research, as she hadn't been out of school for _that_ long. But if it _was_ a trick, or a plot to harm her, why would this person choose to meet near her very secure, _very_ well monitored place of employment?

And if it was a legitimate plea for help from someone she knew, then she'd likely feel guilty for not at leasthearing them out.

She sighed and placed her lab coat back into her locker.

_I guess that answers _that_..._

_

* * *

_

She was shocked to see Levine.

He stood there nervously, his arms wrapped tightly around his trenchcoat, clearly waiting for somebody. Blight approached cautiously, but the sound of her footsteps caused his head to quickly snap up in her direction, and with no small amount of apprehension.

"Barbara!" he said, startled. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I might ask you the same thing." She crossed her arms and looked at him pointedly. "Were you the one who sent me the note?"

He shook his head. "Well, that answers the question I was about to ask _you_, at least." he said, glancing about him.

The darkness was making it difficult for them to see much of anything, despite their position near a street lamp. They both moved closer together.

"I appreciate the fact that you both showed up," said a gruff voice.

Blight started and then narrowed her eyes, trying to make out a dim shape that had just moved out from behind the corner of the nearby building. She could tell that Levine was doing the same, adjusting his glasses for a better look. The figure stepped out of the darkness and into the soft glow of the light.

Her mouth dropped open, and she took an instinctive step backward. She could hear Levine swallow nervously.

He – because whatever it was, it was definitely male – towered over both her _and_ Levine, easily approaching seven feet in height. He had skin that appeared to be segmented into dull yellow scales of some sort. Blight wondered how he managed to move so fluidly, as they didn't appear to be particularly flexible. His face was bizarre, but his eyes even more so, with both solid neon-green irises standing in stark contrast to the surrounding black scleras. Where his hair _would_ have been was some kind of red crest; she doubted that it was a mohawk comprised of actual hair.

Despite these rather grotesque features, there was an air of familiarity about him that she couldn't quite place.

Levine had a strange look on his face as he scrutinized the man. He stepped forward, his fear seeming to have melted away.

"Don't." The man abruptly held out a scaly, three fingered hand as he pulled something out of his coat. He set the object on the pavement and slid it over to them. Babs looked down at the Geiger counter in surprise.

"I _think_ I can control the ionizing radiation that I emit, but not perfectly. Just keep one of those on you."

"Duke?" Levine squawked.

Nukem nodded unhappily. "Hello, Malcolm."

"Good God, what..." Levine trailed off.

"That's why I'm here. Because I _don't_ know. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix this." His shoulders slumped. "You're my last chance."

Nukem then looked over at Blight.

"I hear you're doing quite well for yourself, Barbara. Finished that doctorate in, what, two and a half years?" he asked.

She blinked. "Yes..." she said cautiously, picking up the Geiger counter and turning it on. "But _why_ do you need me? Or Malcolm?"

"You – the _both_ of you – are the only people I know who could possibly help me." He motioned to himself. "With _this_."

Levine and Blight glanced at each other.

She nodded.

"We'll do the best we can. But I can't promise anything, Duke."

* * *

"You can...do _what_ now?"

"Shoot gamma ray blasts from my hands."

"That doesn't even make sense."

Nukem looked disturbed. "There's something else I can do that doesn't make sense."

She gave him a thoughtful look. "What might that be?"

"I can see everything."

"That's..._bad_?"

"Look, you don't understand...I can _see everything_. I can see _all_ types of light. It's making me _crazy_."

Blight frowned to herself for a few seconds, trying to grasp the significance of that statement.

Then she widened her eyes and placed a hand over her mouth.

Dr. Nukem's voice was a strange combination of pleading and hysteria. "It's getting harder and harder to concentrate on_ anything_, because it's getting harder to filter out the external stimuli. I can't even _begin_ to describe to you what a gamma ray looks like. Or a radio wave. Or infrared. They're...God...it's _insane_...colors that shouldn't even exist..."

He buried his head in his mutated hands.

She felt nauseous. Being able to see every wavelength of the electromagnetic spectrum was something that was thankfully beyond her comprehension. Or that of _any_ human being, for that matter. No doubt it would drive someone mad.

"For God's sake, Barbara, do _something.._.," he said in a weak voice.

Her hands shook. She didn't know what to say. They had been studying Nukem's cellular structure and new biochemical processes for the past month, and neither Blight or Levine could make heads or tails of the change, let _alone_ how to fix it.

And it frustrated her.

It frustrated her that she couldn't even _understand_ what was going on. It made her angry that she had nothing brilliant to say, no results to give, and no solution to offer. It infuriated her, because for the first time in her life, her superior intellect couldn't dissect and explain a biological problem.

Levine put a tentative hand on Nukem's shoulder. "Duke, I don't know what to tell you. All we _can_ do is keep trying. And if that's what you want, then we will."

Nukem was silent for several minutes.

"I appreciate what you've tried to do for me," he finally said, face still covered. His voice had a harsh, grating edge to it. "You at least tried when no one else would."

After a few moments he looked up and gave them both a twisted smile.

"But it's alright."

Professor Nukem stood up, and laughed a strange laugh.

"_Fuck_ it."


	7. Don't Blame Me I Just Work Here

**A/N: Thanks to mudget and FrankieAlton for help with this chapter! :) Sorry it's taken me so long to update, it's been an...interesting past few months.**

* * *

Babs stared out the window, her gaze unfocused.

She had been feeling restless and bothered these past few weeks, which was unusual. Dr. Blight was normally a quite focused individual, not really considering much else besides the task at hand. These next few weeks were especially critical; many experiments on the neurotoxin project were wrapping up, and much data had to be collected and synthesized for their final report. But for the first time in a very long time, she couldn't focus, and it disturbed her. She sighed and stared down at her stack of reports. Thumbing through them aimlessly, Blight thought she might try to organize the data into something more manageable for her current state of mind.

"Goddammit," she finally said in a flat voice, rolling her chair back with a push of her legs. It was hopeless. Nothing was sinking in, and she knew that she had to confront the underlying problem in order to fix her current difficulty with focus. She loathed the very_ idea _of it, of course. She despised therapy or counseling of any sort, considering it beneath someone of her intellect; that kind of thing was for the weak, the broken, the _stupid_. Babs could handle those minor internal obstacles on her own and she didn't need anyone for it. Even if it _was_ just herself.

She stood up, shrugging herself out of her labcoat, and grabbing her heavy wool coat. Pulling it on, she walked out of the office and closed the door. Blight was headed to a specific place, a place that she had claimed for her own when she arrived in this city almost a year ago.

* * *

She leaned against the railing and stared down at the sediment-laden water, regarding her murky reflection with little interest. She blinked in mild surprise when she spotted the aimless fall of a snowflake within her field of vision. Blight shivered and drew her coat tighter when a strong gust of wind suddenly drove its bitter chill into her body. She pulled the knit hat down further over her ears and rubbed her upper arms with her gloved hands.

Despite the uncomfortable environment she wasn't ready to leave; she was here to think. Babs had unintentionally allowed her mind to wander on the walk to the dreary park; even in the summer it was a bleak place. The trees were a little too gnarled to be pretty, the flowers (in the spring at least) had always been a little too small and pale to be attractive even for those with the most diplomatic of aesthetic taste. The creek wasn't clear, it never had been, and Blight had no idea how deep it was, not that she really cared. Even the bridge lacked real décor, although its dated design showed a tired attempt at it. But any appeal it might have had was diminished long ago by pollution and time; not a shocking state of affairs for an ancient, tiny park nestled deep in the heart of a very industrial, very dirty city.

Blight had always thought that it had the potential to be beautiful again and it wouldn't cost the city much to improve it. But what once was an upscale neighborhood in the surrounding community had slowly degenerated into an area plagued with poverty and filth. Of course, no politician wanted to bother with proposing the meager funding needed to clean the park; it had happened once before and the public outrage over such a 'waste of money' was so intense that no public official had dared since.

Dr. Blight liked it anyway, despite the dreariness. Not many people came here anymore. It extolled an underlying current of tiredness, of exhaustion; like the world had long ago forgotten about this little bit of land. Blight found this meager last stand of nature within the depths of heavy urbanization fascinating, and almost admired it's determination to survive here, considering the lack of human attention or care it received.

The distant sounds of traffic seemed to disappear when she shut her eyes in concentration.

She had to admit, her thoughts were of Duke. Not specifically _him_- she knew he could take care of himself at this point, if those recent high-profile thefts of government property were any indication. Although it was no secret to her, officials had been puzzled as to the perpetrator, and Blight knew a lot of the details were not being released to the public, and for good reason.

Most of those thefts had been stolen radiative materials; mainly uranium fuel pellets, not weapons grade or anything quite so serious but it would undoubtedly instill panic into a general public that had no clue as to the difference. Babs felt her upper lip curl ever so slightly. _Idiots_.

Although Nukem was in a very different field of science than she, Blight knew he suffered the same prejudice and bias over it that she did. More often than not, the attitude made it more difficult to carry out the research, at least without tension. She actually felt a bit more sympathetic for him in that regard than for herself – his particular projects were at least peaceful in nature, and had been intended to be somewhat progressive and beneficial for society. Blight was under no illusions of such nobility for herself; her research was geared towards warfare and defense, plain and simple. She _knew_ the work she did was for furthering death and destruction, at least potentially. Her sister had asked her at once if that bothered her morally, or on some sort of personal level.

"_But...Babs, doesn't that _bother_ you?"_

_Blight had blinked at Bambi's unanticipated question. She had assumed Bambi would have congratulated her on being selected right out of school for such a high-ranking position in a top-secret government research lab. She had also assumed Bambi would have been _proud_ of her accomplishment, at least generally, even considering her sister's views on such issues._

_She had stared at Bambi for a few long seconds, trying to come up with a response._

"_What do you mean?" she hazarded instead, not exactly understanding._

_Bambi frowned. "You know...I mean, you said this was for weapons research, right?"_

"_Yeah..."_

"_And weapons research...you know...you come up with ways to destroy things. Making the world worse, or at least more miserable. Doesn't that bother you?"_

_Babs paused for a moment before answering._

"_If you're asking me if I'm bothered by the _idea_ of making weapons, then I'm going to say no, I'm not."_

_Her sister looked at her, mouth slightly agape, as if Blight had said the most callous and hateful thing possible. The idea really _hadn't_ bothered her, but not in the way that Bambi was probably thinking. It annoyed her the way people made assumptions about her morals, her family included. Bambi was her _sister_ for God's sake. She should have known her stances and why she held them better than anybody else._

"_B-but why not?" Bambi predictably sputtered. _

_Babs sighed in exasperation._

"_Why should I? My employer needs my expertise in gathering data, and it's not my problem how they choose to _use_ that data. I'm not even going to be involved in assembling actual warheads, or in researching delivery systems." _

"_Biochemical weapons are...are...horrible! Look what they've done in the past!"_

_Blight snorted. "'Biochemical' can mean a lot of things, Bambi. For all I know, they want to just develop a mild eye irritant, or something similarly non-lethal."_

"_But you don't know that."_

_She could tell that the conversation was not going to end well._

"_You're right, I don't. So what if I did though? I don't decide who does what, or who might die because of it. I'm not responsible for any of that."_

_Bambi was quiet for a bit before replying. "But you would have been involved in the _process_, Babs! Doesn't that still make you responsible?"_

_Blight felt her face heat up in anger. "Me? Why me specifically, huh? Why not you too? Your taxes pay for this research. What about all those blithering idiots up in Congress who authorized the earmark buried in some obtuse, rambling bill that voters are too lazy to care to know about? And _speaking _of which, why not blame the public while we're at it?" At this point she had started to flail her arms in frustration._

"_And even if my research is selected for further development, I have nothing to do with how its deployed, or in deciding who to use it on!"_

_Blight snarled at her sister, who shrank back a little at this display of anger. "_Some_ of us can't live our lives completely within some lofty set of ideals. I know _you_ can Bambi. _You_ can at least _pretend_ to. You can at least live in Hollywood, far away from that nasty reality that I'm involved in, with your head buried in the sand. Just keep convincing yourself that you have nothing to do with these things, that you don't contribute to them. Keep lying to yourself if you want. But I'm not going to."_

_She grabbed her coat as she started to storm out of the room. Suddenly, she paused with her hand resting on the doorknob. Her shoulders slumped a little._

"_You're right though, Bambi. I _would _be a little responsible. And if my research is used to kill people, then yeah, some of that blood is on my hands," Babs said softly, more to herself than to her sister._

"_But at least I'm not a hypocrite."_

Dr. Blight frowned at the memory. She hadn't spoken to Bambi since then, although she wasn't purposely avoiding contact with her. Her initial anger had faded fairly quickly afterward, but she hadn't bothered to call her sister. It generally went like that anyway; they would fight, not speak for a few months, and eventually start talking again like nothing had ever happened. It _did_ bother her that this particular incident wasn't following precedent. But only a little.

Her line of work already alienated her from a great deal of people, and even though she wasn't very close to Bambi, the fact that it was straining her relationship with her family infuriated Babs. Blight didn't know anything about Nukem's family, but judging from their lack of support for him during his recent crisis she could only conclude that they had abandoned him. She could_ only_ conclude that _he_ was all alone in the world somewhere, fighting to do...well, _whatever_ it was that he had decided to do with his life.

Blight didn't want to think about the people who would support her if something like that ever happened to her. She didn't _want _to tally up the number of people who would actually be in her corner, because, deep down, she knew that number was very low indeed.

The young scientist shivered underneath the darkening sky as she left, the heavy snowfall quickly removing any evidence of her presence on the bridge.


End file.
